FADE IN

CLOSE UP: A closed eye, slowly fluttering open. A small moment of peace.

WIDER revealing the another eye to complete the set, and a pleasant face to go along with the eyes. The CAMERA continues to widen, illuminating the surroundings.

INT. BEDROOM - MORNING

A messy teenager’s room, complete with obscure posters and a complete misuse of the floor as a laundry hamper. The teenager in question, CLIVE, is lying drearily on his bed, cocooned in several sheets. He’s a handsome boy-next-door type, dark ruffled hair, large expressive eyes. No more than 16 years old.

CLOSE UP: A radio alarm clock. It displays the current time, 6:59 AM, in large, bold, red letters. As soon the hour turns, the alarm BLARES to life.

RADIO ANNOUNCER

...which has rumoured to be a resurgance of SARS, a virus

which attacked the city two years ago. Officials

urge citizens to remain calm and optimist about

the state of public health, and have ruled out

the possibility of a terrortist threat.

Clive’s hand reaches over and dials down the volume, so the announcer can no longer be heard. Half-asleep, he manages to lumber out of bed, absently wiping the crust from his eyes.

Slowly, he walks across the room and towards his dresser drawer, where a large mirror sits. Photos of family members and friends adorn the mirror; Clive can barely see his own reflection. He stares at himself for a few seconds, contemplating something.

ANGLE: One of many Polaroids taped to the mirror. A mother, father, and young child all grin adoringly at the camera in the midst of a large, sunny park.

Clive’s eyes find it, and there’s a brief flicker of emotion, but it’s lost almost as quickly as it was found. He turns and walks away.

CUT TO

EXT. CLIVE’S HOUSE - DRIVEWAY - HALF AN HOUR LATER

A modest suburban home amidst dozens upon dozens of other identical homes. Clive emerges from the house, dressed and ready for the day, carrying a sporty backpack. The early rays of morning illuminate the neighborhood.

A man stands before the black sedan sitting in the driveway, smoking a cigarette. He’s in his 40s, although he’s aged quite a bit thanks to his chain smoking. This is MORGAN, Clive’s father.

CLIVE

I’m ready.

MORGAN

And not a minute to spare.

Morgan flicks his cigarette to the ground and stamps it out. He turns and looks at Clive, half-amused, half-disappointed.

MORGAN

Does it feel weird?

CLIVE

Does what?

MORGAN

Going to school on a Saturday morning.

Clive can’t help but roll his eyes as he goes to open the passenger side door.

CLIVE

It’s not exactly school...

INT. MORGAN’S CAR - CONT’D

As Clive buckles his seatbelt, Morgan joins him in the driver’s seat. Puts in the key, ignites the engine.

MORGAN

No, I don’t imagine it would be.

Sitting in a library for six

hours under the vice principal’s

supervision is a luxury that

most of us can’t afford...

Clive’s quite obviously annoyed, but he knows what his father is trying to say. Morgan backs out of the driveway.

CLIVE

I paid for the damage out of

my own pocket.

MORGAN

Which was admirable, Clive, yes,

but you’ve been saving up for

university.

CLIVE

I’ll apply for OSAP.

MORGAN

You’re not getting my point.

You shouldn’t have done something

that stupid in the first place.

You’re better than that.

He gives his son a glance, but when he doesn’t get one back, he trains his eyes back on the road.

CUT TO

EXT. SUBURBAN NEIGHBORHOOD - CONT’D

The black sedan moves quietly through the eerie rows of suburban housing, past a large elementary school with a park, and towards an intersection near a strip-mall.

INT. MORGAN’S CAR - SAME

The tension between father and son is rising. Morgan stops at a stop light, although the roads are creepily empty and quiet.

CLIVE

I’ll do extra shifts, okay?

MORGAN

When? On Saturdays? For the next

two months your Saturdays are

pretty booked up, kiddo.

CLIVE

Then I’ll do them during the

week! Jesus...

MORGAN

Hey. Hey. What did I say about that?

CLIVE

Dad, it’s not like we’re practicing

Christians. We’re poseur Christians.

MORGAN

Be that as it may, you keep that

tongue in check, alright? It’s

that smart mouthing that you got

you into this whole thing.

CLIVE

I didn’t “get into” anything, dad!

I was just bored with my life. Am

I not allowed to want to do new things?

MORGAN

If these “new things” involve the

destruction of public property, I’d

say that’s a big fucking no.

CLIVE

(really annoyed)

Dad.

MORGAN

What?

Clive motions toward the traffic light. It’s now green. There’s still no visible traffic on the roads. Somewhat embarrassed, Morgan presses the gas.

MORGAN

(softening)

Clive, I know you made a mistake.

That doesn’t change anything, we

all fuck up pretty bad once in a

while. And I’ll support whatever

you do - as long as it’s within

the law. You understand me?

After a moment, Clive nods solemnly. Morgan turns his attention back to the road. He makes a face.

MORGAN

Quiet as hell around here.

He turns on the car radio.

RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)

...although reports of infection have

appeared as early as yesterday afternoon...

Clive leans back in his chair, rubbing the dark rings under his eyes.

CLIVE

It’s 7:30 am on a Saturday. Not

everyone’s got a meeting with the

Breakfast Club.

MORGAN

Hey, what did I tell you about

that smart mouth?

RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)

...bizarre reports from hospital staff

detail victims erupting in a violent,

cannibalistic rage...

MORGAN

(turns to look at his son)

Clive?

When Clive takes his hand away from his face, tears are suddenly in his eyes. His father notices, and turns down the volume of the radio until it’s almost inaudible.

RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)

...Police Chief Julian Fantino is urging

Toronto citizens to remain calm...

MORGAN

(worried)

Clive?

Clive doesn’t say anything. He looks away, out the window, distancing himself from the car and his father. Ashamed.

MORGAN

Clive? Talk to me.

RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)

...citing the cause of infection to be

something entirely dissimilar to the

SARS outbreak...

Still, nothing.

MORGAN

Clive...

Morgan pulls the car over onto the side of the road, outside of an empty Tim Horton’s. Clive looks at his father, eyes red and wet, shocked.

CLIVE

What are you doing? We’re gonna

be late!

MORGAN

Doesn’t matter. Talk to me.

CLIVE

What? Why?

MORGAN

You’re crying, Clive. It’s been

a while.

Clive swallows a lump rising in his throat. He lets out a brief sigh, staring at the windshield. In the background, we hear the faintest chatter of the radio.

RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)

...is expected to grow exponentially

worse as the day continues...

Clive’s grip on his backpack tightens slightly. He bites his lower lip, trying so hard to hold it all back.

CLIVE

It’s been four months, you know.

Morgan darkens at that. He nods, slowly.

MORGAN

Yeah, I know. What are you are

trying to say?

CLIVE

It’s been four months... and I’m

already fucking up so bad...

He can barely finish, he’s crying too hard. Morgan immediately moves in to hug his son - or hug him as best as he can, in the awkwardly cramped car. He really only manages a warm arm-around-the-shoulder. He lets Clive let it all out for several moments, until his son grows quiet.

MORGAN

(softly)

I didn’t want her to go, either.

But she made her own decision

and followed through. Part of me

doesn’t blame her. But then another,

more intelligent part of me remembers

that she abandoned her own family.

Clive closes his bloodshot eyes, emotionally wrecked. Off Morgan’s shoulder, out through the driver’s seat window, we see a FIGURE quite far away. It stands very strangely, almost like an insect.

MORGAN

Like I said, you made a mistake.

But it was just that, son.

And maybe she made a mistake, too.

But we gotta move on, Clive. We

can’t dwell on the things that

hurt us.

The FIGURE slowly turns toward the car, staring right at it. Very slowly, it starts to lumber towards the direction of Morgan’s window. It’s still too far away to get a clear image of what it actually is.

MORGAN

What we lost, we lost a long time

ago. And I don’t plan on losing

anything else.

He gives Clive’s shoulder a squeeze as he says that.

MORGAN

You got me, kiddo?

The figure suddenly BREAKS INTO A FULL-SPEED RUN right towards the car.

RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)

...said to be highly dangerous and

homicidal...

Clive looks up at his father, about to say something possibly warm and loving, but instead he gets a glimpse of the HORRIFYING UNDEAD GHOUL running full-tilt right towards Morgan’s window. What was once a normal human being is now a monstrous running corpse, eyes red with blood. Half of its face has been savagely torn off, revealing the bare musculature beneath. It runs with the most terrifying animal-like gait, like something attempting to be human but failing miserably. It’s face is transfixed with an eternal snarl, mouth gaping open as if frozen.

A beast. A zombie.

And it smashes right through Morgan’s window.

MORGAN

JESUS—

Neither of them have time to react. The zombie grabs onto Morgan’s left arm, bites into it, and viciously RIPS out a chunk of flesh. Morgan SCREAMS as loud as he possibly can as a spray of blood erupts from the wound, splashing against the windshield, and his own panicked son.

Morgan throws a punch with his one good arm, pushing the ghoul away from the car. With Morgan’s flesh still in its bloodied mouth, the zombie SCREAMS angrily at them and comes back for more.

Without hesitation Morgan steps on the gas and RACES the fuck out of there.

CUT TO

EXT. SUBURBAN LANDSCAPE - SAME

AERIAL SHOT of the black sedan getting the hell out of dodge. The ZOMBIE is running with all of its vicious strength after the moving vehicle. All in the middle of an empty suburban road.

INT. MORGAN’S CAR - CONT’D

The once somber tone has now become that of complete panic. Morgan is desperately trying to drive the car with one arm while battling blood loss with the other - Clive is panicking - he rips off part of his jacket and tries to fashion it around the wound, but he’s too shaky.

CLIVE

OH GOD... OH GOD... What the FUCK

was that? Dad, PULL OVER!

MORGAN

I CAN’T! It’s still chasing us!

Clive turns and sees that the zombie is indeed still in pursuit. Watching it run towards them chills the teenager to his very soul.

CLIVE

Who the hell was he??

He looks over to his dad, whose eyes slowly begin to close. Morgan’s starting to pass out.

CLIVE

DAD! SHIT!

Clive’s shaking hands try to go for the wheel, and the moment he does, he sees that there’s a car barreling RIGHT for them.

CLIVE

SHIT!

His hands clasp onto the wheel, and nothing but sheer will and determination manage to steer them. He swerves, HARD, avoiding the other car, but screeching off the side of the road.

EXT. ROADSIDE - DITCH

Morgan’s black sedan tips a little too much and ROLLS OVER as it smashes down into the deep ditch surrounded by grass and brush. The vehicle lands with a resounding crash.

The other car, meanwhile, plows RIGHT INTO THE ZOMBIE - sending it sky high - and continues racing down the zombie lets loose a guttural noise as it lands, very hard, on the pavement. So hard that we hear the ghoul’s skull crack, sickeningly.

A beat.

CLOSE UP: The zombie’s eyes. The ravenously angry red has now transformed into a dull, emotionless gray. The CAMERA rises higher into the sky, a whiff of smoke appearing on frame momentarily to obscure the image of the dead ghoul.

BLACK OUT